Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

A Crack In Everything

By the time Irissë had finished sharing her opinions on Turvo’s botched handling of their amazing, talented baby brother who could most definitely have used an older sibling looking out for him and teaching him and spoiling him and making sure he actually had some confidence instead of being at his best when he thought no one was looking, her older brother looked rather stunned.

His ridiculous theory that he had thought he was being helpful by staying away had been dealt with decisively.

“That’s almost as big a load of horseshit as the story you told about my husband,” she told him bluntly.

“That’s what Moryo said,” her brother muttered.

“Stars, it was bad enough that even Moryo noticed?” she demanded.

Her brother flushed, which meant there was a story there he didn’t care to tell – she would have to ask Moryo at the first opportunity.

“Yes, his return-“

“Was when it all unraveled on you. I heard that part already.”

“You must not have heard all of it,” Turvo said, with the air of a man gathering himself for a doomed charge. “You haven’t said anything about the book.”

“Oh, Artë told me all about that,” she assured him. “But I also heard that Finno said to leave it to him to settle.”

Her brother blanched.

Privately, Irissë decided she owed Artë a thank you for that notion that letting her brother stew improved the end result as well as sharing that she hadn’t seen fit to share what Tindomiel had said on the matter later. Her brother the ass was likely to have quite a while to anticipate Finno’s justice.

Finno could always yell at her later if he didn’t like it.

“I do hope you’re going to be less terrible to Aryo and Anairon’s mates whenever they marry.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at his shock.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, dear brother, you blamed your older brother’s mate for his death, and actually killed my husband. It’s not a very encouraging pattern. In our brothers’ shoes, I might think twice about introducing a mate or even a prospective mate to you.”

Turvo could come up with nothing coherent in response, just a bunch of spluttering. Seeing as he’d only had the one glass – she hadn’t pushed him on the drinking – it was solely from outrage, insult, or possibly having just realized that she had a point.

“Anyway, you can’t fix that right now. But you can be a better big brother to Anairon. You’re pretty good at big brother-ing when you’re not being an ass.”

“Thank you,” Turvo snorted.

She decided to take the edge of sarcasm as a good sign. She hadn’t been trying to break him, just to pull his head out of his rear end.

“I suppose I’d better be getting on. We’re having dinner at Lómion’s tonight.”

“Yes, Ammë’s joining you. Perhaps you can show her the way.”

She tried not to snicker.

“Yes, then she can see how adult I’ve been,” Irissë agreed.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Considering everyone else, our parents included, expected me to give you another bruise at the least, I think I’m allowed to be a little smug,” she grinned. “Come on.”

She took his arm.

“Let’s go see if there’s anyone left in your house at all. I wouldn’t blame them if they were all down at Rillë’s pumping the children for information.”

---

Anairë kept her husband from following Turukano when he stalked off after lunch.

Ingo had left to find his children – and possibly to get away before Turvo decided to imitate his sister and take a swing. He knew as well as Anairë did that Turvo could only be pushed so far before he snapped.

Her son might have been annoyed, but it had been rather illuminating to hear from his best friend how Turvo had behaved in the early years in Beleriand. Too many people thought she should only hear the better moments, but hearing only the good didn’t help her put her family back together again.

Elenwë and Amarië had nipped off to Elenwë’s  favorite tailor to order wedding presents – the Moles had apparently stocked Lómion’s wardrobe, but Elenwë was certain he wouldn’t have anything in current fashion, and Tindomiel was unlikely to have anything appropriate for the festival considering she’d left Tirion abruptly on one of her rambles. (Anairë could have enlightened them on exactly why she’d left, but then she’d have to admit to knowing about it and possibly reprimand the girl.)

Nolo had been inclined to seize the opportunity to have a talk with their son, but Anairë had argued it was too soon. Lunch hadn’t been overly harsh, but Turvo would need time to think things over. Push at him too much and it would be counterproductive – he’d either blow up or simply retreat to a point that only Elenwë would be able to coax him out.

She’d shooed him and Ara off to visit Rillë and Artë instead. (And all the young ones, seeing as the only ones not there were Lómion and Tinwë.) That would keep them out of trouble for a bit.

That left her and Eärwen free to talk the day’s events over in the privacy of her room. Eärwen thought things were going rather well – Irissë had stopped at only one punch, after all. Given what they knew, she might easily have been more emphatic.

Anairë had been a bit puzzled about that, but there was always the hope that Irissë had finally grown up somewhere along the way.

Eärwen was only a bit disappointed that she wouldn’t be among the party dining at the Mole that evening. As she’d said, if they included all grandmothers Tindomiel had in the city, there would be only Amarië and Tuor left to dissuade the rest of the boys when they got bad ideas.

They might have kept talking for another several hours had Eärwen not pointed out that if Anairë wanted to have a word with Turvo before anyone else got back, now was the time.

She could also ask Turvo to have someone show her the way to the Mole after. She would just as soon make her way there quietly, without a fuss. Let the rest of the city focus on the comings and goings at the Wing.

It was a shock to find Turvo and Irissë coming out of his study arm in arm – though it looked more like Irissë’s idea than Turvo’s.

Irissë’s grin only broadened at the sight of her, and she gave a little bow.

“Look, he’s still alive and no new bruises,” she proclaimed proudly.

Turvo didn’t seem inclined to dispute the statement. If anything, he looked rather resigned to the situation.

“Darling, have you been torturing your brother?” Anairë asked.

Turvo flinched at the word, but Irissë giggled.

“Not in the least,” she replied. “Well, maybe a little. But only words, Ammë. No fists, feet, or other body parts.”

Anairë would dearly have loved to get a few minutes with Turvo, but with Irissë there, it was impossible.

“I was just coming to ask if you’d have someone guide me to Lómion’s house, Turvo, but as Irissë will be going back directly…”

“Do you need to take a change of clothes with you? Or anything else?”

She was unsurprised that Turvo had seized the chance to talk about something inconsequential – and to get rid of his sister without looking like that was what he was trying to do.

“No, I know Tindomiel won’t mind me not being ‘fancy’, and I rather doubt Lómion will be fussed either.”

“He won’t be, Ammë – he’ll be just fine with you as you are,” Irissë assured her.

“If you’re certain,” Turvo said.

“Yes,” Irissë chirped. “We’re certain. Behave yourself at dinner brother dear – and don’t go making things worse.”

Anairë waited until they were halfway to the Mole, according to Irissë at least, before she raised the subject of what had brought Irissë to her brother’s house.

“We were just clearing the air, Ammë,” Irissë told her cheerfully. “I thought it would go better without an audience.”

“Your father and uncle will still want to have a conversation with both of you,” Anairë warned.

“That’s fine,” her daughter shrugged. “Gives Turvo an incentive to behave, lest I actually ask them to do what I told him I thought they should have made him do.”

Anairë knew better than to ask. She turned the conversation to Lómion instead, but to her disappointment, Irissë refused to be drawn.

“You’ll meet him very shortly, Ammë,” she said. “I’ll let you form your own opinion. Besides, you already know I think he’s wonderful, what more do you want me to say?”

Anairë sighed. It would accomplish nothing to push. So instead she turned the conversation to the city, curious to hear what Irissë thought of new Ondolindë, original Ondolindë, and the Ondolindrim.

With Irissë livening it up with anecdotes, the walk passed quickly enough.

The House of the Mole wasn’t entirely out of place in the city, but Anairë decided there was an understated elegance to it. It wasn’t showy as the Harp or airy like the Swallow, it was down to earth and practical – but still beautiful.

“They tell me they had time and space to plan the house properly this time,” Irissë explained. “It was an afterthought in the original city, built late and solely so Lómion would have his own House. The only other house created after the building of the city was the Wing, and Rillë tells me that was smaller still. She handpicked her people.”

Anairë thought but did not say that surely Tuor should have had more of a hand in what was nominally his House.

They were met at the top of the stairs by a slightly apologetic captain of the guard, who waved them toward Lómion’s rooms. Irissë found it hilarious that her son and law-daughter had caused so much havoc, but Anairë didn’t see the amusement. The poor officers of the house had clearly been taxed to the limit trying to handle the unprecedented situation.  She would point that out to her grandchildren later – but gently.

When they reached Lómion’s rooms, Irissë called out.

“Darlings! Are you decent?”

Anairë sighed. She might not have had the full story yet – she or Eärwen would worm it out of someone eventually – but she was certain her daughter had not had such interruptions when she was newly wed. (She also had a suspicion of how Irissë would have reacted…)

Her daughter didn’t actually wait for a reply, just pushed the door from the sitting room to the private rooms open without further ado.

“What would you have done if the answer was ‘no’?”

She had known Lómion’s looks were reminiscent of Nolo, but his voice was very like his father’s. The question, however, put her in mind of Tindomiel – and that was an encouraging thought. She would congratulate them regardless, but it would be comforting to know her grandchildren were well-matched.

“Covered your grandmother’s eyes,” Irissë replied brightly. “Here they are, Ammë!”

She meant  to say something along the lines of ‘yes, I can see that’, but Anairë found to her dismay that emotion robbed her of her voice entirely. She has been waiting since the late First Age to meet her only grandson, waiting through war, destruction, death, return, desperate for any crumb of news about him, and at long last, he was here.

---

Tindomiel looked around the table and smiled.

The ‘grandmothers’ dinner was going surprisingly well, all things considered. (Yes, still slight awkwardness given that from Gran Itarillë’s perspective, her best friend had just married her great-granddaughter with zero warning, but aside from that tiny insignificant little detail…)

Gramma Anairë hadn’t said a single word to them about not doing things properly. She’d actually been so overcome when Irissë brought her early that she hadn’t been able to say a word for the first few minutes. When Maeglin had gone to her in concern, she’d grabbed him in a hug so tight it would have impressed Anariel.

That, paradoxically, had gone a long way to reassure her previously nervous husband that his grandmother did indeed love him just as much as his mother, albeit in slightly different ways.

Anairë’s first words when she was finally able to speak had been, “I am so happy for you both.”

After that, the only trouble had been convincing Maeglin that they really could wait until the appointed time for dinner. It turned out he shared the ‘someone is upset? Feed them!’ gene with Anairon and Anairë herself. It had been really hard not to laugh for a while there.

Once she was calmer, Gramma Anairë wanted to hear anything Maeglin would tell her about himself. Tindomiel had been warmed by his delight as it became clear that anything meant anything – unlike anyone in Gondolin, his grandmother was thrilled to hear stories from his childhood and stories about him and his parents doing small happy everyday things. Tindomiel enjoyed listening, too – and enjoyed even more seeing Maeglin finally relax in the presence of kin other than his parents.

Some of the tension had come back when the rest of the dinner guests arrived – specifically Gran Itarillë. She wasn’t sure why Grandmother didn’t worry him, but was decided it was best to go with it and be grateful. Whereas it was obvious that at some point she had to contrive time for Maeglin and Gran Itarillë to talk without anyone else in the way.

But her grandmothers were just as excited to see him as Anairë had been. If Gran had things to say to Maeglin about his choice of mate or manner of marrying, she was saving it for later. She’d chosen to focus on a more pertinent question.

“Tinwë?” she asked when the conversation hit a lull. “Did you bring him back?”

“Nope,” Tindomiel said firmly. “He came back all on his own. Well, mostly on his own. Minor assist from Namo.”

“I see now why your friends were so convinced you would be in trouble,” Maeglin sighed.

“She is not in trouble,” Anairë informed the room. It had the force of a command, not a suggestion.

“Of course not, Grandmother,” Gran Itarillë trilled. “I was just curious. Given Tindomiel’s ability, perhaps there was a secret courtship?”

She looked expectantly at them.

All you, Tindomiel informed her mate silently.

“I saw Tindomiel once or twice in the Halls, but to call it a courtship would be wildly inaccurate,” Maeglin replied. “It is fair to say I noticed and admired her, but no more than that.”

“You saw him in the Halls, Tinwë?” Gramma Anairë asked in surprise. “You never said!”

“I saw her,” Maeglin said, heading off the danger. “I do not believe she saw me.”

Tindomiel could feel his unease with the turn the conversation had taken. He wasn’t eager to explain his isolation in the Halls.

“If I had seen him, I would definitely have said something,” she assured everyone.

“But why would you not have made yourself known to Tinwë?” Gran Itarillë persisted. “I had the impression from Maitulië that nearly everyone knows her in the Halls!”

“Who is Maitulië?” Anairë whispered to Irissë, who looked just as puzzled.

“One of the Wingers who is recently returned, just this past winter. He was killed at Sirion,” Itarillë explained. “So his information is more recent than Uncle Aiko or Uncle Aryo’s.”

“Not as recent as ours,” Eöl put in, “and we didn’t see very much of Tindomiel, or have the sense that everyone knew her.”

Itarillë’s reaction to that was the same as to just about anything Eöl said – an air of slight confusion, as she tried to adjust her worldview to him not being nearly as bad as her father had claimed.

“Maitulië may have exaggerated slightly,” Tindomiel said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s still a lot of people in there, it’s not like I could talk to everyone. I’d be in there non-stop from now until whenever the Halls are finally empty.”

“So you weren’t in the Halls just before Maeglin came back?” Itarillë pressed.

She has you there, Maeglin said – but very quietly, well aware that both Galadriel and Itarillë had sharp ears.

“I was, but to visit Finduilas.”

“How is Findë?” Grandmother cut in, possibly sensing that Tindomiel would be happy for the save.

“Good. Still not ready to come back though,” she replied sadly.

“Why ever not?” Anairë asked. “Have you told the sweet girl how happy Eärwen and Lótë will be to meet her at last? And Lótë’s parents?”

“Every time I see her,” Tindomiel nodded.

“But then…” Itarillë trailed off in frustration. “Well. Keep at it, she might change her mind. You finally returned, maybe she’ll take inspiration from you.”

Maeglin blinked in surprise, not entirely pleased to have the conversation turned back to him.

I’m not sure she knew who I was while I was alive, why would she take inspiration from me? he asked Tindomiel privately.

“I do not believe I so much as saw cousin Finduilas once. Or if I did, I did not know it was her.”

“What were you doing that whole time?” Irissë asked curiously. “We looked everywhere for you.”

“Yes, no one in the family found you, and not for want of looking!” Itarillë added. “Did you think we would believe Sauron’s lies?”

Tindomiel took a decent swig of wine. That was the question they’d been hoping to avoid – and phrased in a way that unknowingly made it worse.

“No,” Maeglin said quietly, but anyone who heard it could tell there wasn’t much conviction in the word.

“Lómion, what happened?”

The quiet desperation she could feel from Maeglin was too much.

“Nope, not talking about that at dinner,” Tindomiel announced.

“Why?”

The question came from multiple directions.

“Because I have one grandmother at this table who will be flat out horrified and another who will begin plotting…not sure what the equivalent of homicide is when you’re talking about ainur, but that.”

I thought your sister was doing that already, Maeglin said.

Yes, fine, they’ll have to get in line behind Anariel, she sighed.

She looked around the table, and gauging Gran Itarillë’s expression, amended her statement.

Actually, make that two grandmothers plotting ainuricide. Plus your mother would probably haul off and maim her older brother for not stopping it somehow, and we’ve gotten this far without serious violence…

Maeglin wasn’t much comforted, though he was relieved that she had put a stop to it.

At least, they thought she had.

“My dawn child,” her father said slowly. “I’m not certain letting whatever it was that bothered your mate so fester unaddressed is the best plan. I have still not entirely mastered the therapy you mentioned, but I believe it may be appropriate here. Maeglin need not worry about anyone else’s reaction, every person at this table cares for him and only wishes to see him healthy and happy.”

Did Turvo do something else inexcusable we didn’t know about yet? Grandmother asked sharply.

Balls.

It was almost a really nice dinner, she sighed to Maeglin.